


Against the Odds

by shapechanger



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, SO MUCH FLUFF, slightly canon divergent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 11:00:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7505751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shapechanger/pseuds/shapechanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of Dumbledore's death and a rain-soaked battle in Knockturn Alley, Remus makes up his mind about Tonks.</p><p>(Stand-alone take, slightly canon-divergent, one of those situations that I will happily write and re-write in a thousand different ways.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Against the Odds

It is mid-conversation, in front of a fire in his house on the Yorkshire moors, that Remus comes to the quite definite realisation that he is well past the point of harmless infatuation when it comes to Tonks and has been for a very long time. Truthfully, it's not the first time the thought has entered his head, so really, it's more of an absolute surrender that’s taken months and months to fully sink in. They're both soaked through from another gruelling night on shared duty for the Order, and by all rights, both of them could well justify being in an absolutely filthy mood. 

Getting cornered by multiple assailants in the midst of Knockturn Alley hadn't been what either of them had expected, but they'd come out of it rather better than they should have, with little more than a few bruises after a round of immediate healing for minor injuries upon their return to headquarters. They'd always worked well together, and tonight had been the final proof of it, the way that they'd ducked spells from multiple angles and come back up; someone behind him immediately got a kick in the face from her steel-reinforced boots that had made bone crunch, someone behind her hit with a hex that blasted them back several feet. It was a synergy born of two skilled fighters who knew one another's movements from observation and close contact, watching each other closely. Even as precarious as the situation had been, there had also been a certain fierce joy that Remus hadn’t known how to acknowledge, the rush in his blood of adrenaline spun from battle. Then there had also been the fear of wondering if he'd make the wrong move, do something that meant she got hurt. The thought had made no logical sense, she was a brilliant duellist, they'd made it through largely unscathed because the fact was that they suited one another, instinctively covering exposed points and returning fire in a fluid sequence. There was no clumsiness in Tonks' movements in such a situation; when she'd spun in a shower of burning sparks and hit three opponents at once seemingly effortlessly, there had been no question concerning her skill.

They'd been soaked through and sore and exhausted by the time that they got back to Grimmauld Place. Once they'd been seen to, Remus hadn't wanted to remain there, had caught her hand and drawn her out with him when she'd glanced in his direction. It wasn't the first time that they'd disappeared off together, and he'd reached the point of weariness where he didn't much care what others thought of the matter.

Now, she's sat huddled in one of his blankets, her hair still damp, darkening it to the colour of rose, though still tinged with brown, her hands wrapped around a mug full of tea and a smile on her face despite everything. There's warmth to Remus' observation of her that only deepens when she raises her mug and clinks it to his as though it's a glass of fine champagne. "To coming out in one piece against the odds," she says, making him laugh, and it feels like the release of all the unwelcome tension he's held the entire evening through, the humour diffusing the reality of the fact that it really _is_ against the odds. He takes a drink from his own tea and then sets it aside, settling back into his chair as he watches her do the same, then take a borrowed towel and continue to ruffle the water out of her hair. If they were less tired, they'd both have used drying charms by now, but the thought of casting another spell feels like far too much effort, so the ordinary way suits just fine for now. 

Her hair waves this way and that in mingled tendrils of dark pink and brown and affection fills his chest as he watches her, here in his home, unconsciously lovely, perfectly _Tonks_ and everything that that has come to mean. She's quiet conversations late at night when neither of them can sleep, warm blankets and curling close when he's cold and exhausted, understanding when he expects nothing, every colour imaginable when his world feels composed of black and white. She's told him how she feels, forgiven him his hesitation and his distance, given him time when he asked for it without denying that she'd meant the words she'd said in the Hospital Wing. Another quiet conversation, private between them, one that had left them both holding onto one another and emotionally drained from processing Dumbledore's death. She had held his hand after that through the one of the hardest days of his life and expended a massive amount of energy to wear her hair completely pink to the funeral because the Headmaster had always taken enjoyment in guessing what colour she'd wear her hair on a given day. She'd eventually told him the reasons that she had found it hard to change: losing Sirius, being afraid for _him_ , afraid that he'd die with this hanging between them, more frequent exposure to Dementors, how she couldn't always control the way that her ability reacted, her voice raw with the admission. The sight of her hair had oddly given Remus a sense of comfort that day as well in the same way that the reassurance of her fingers laced through his had told him that he wasn't alone. She hasn't pushed him, only been far stronger than he is, and he still doesn't think for a moment that he deserves her, regardless of the fact that he loves her.

When she runs fingers back through her hair to settle it down, there's a few stray droplets of water that roll down her neck and he wants to reach out and capture them on his fingers. The rain continues to pour down outside, the wind faintly tapping against the windows, but Remus is distracted from all of those details and he wants to be. She's noticed that she's the object of his attention and tilts her head curiously, meets his eyes without fear. "Do I still have things on my face?" she asks, wrinkling her nose slightly, and it's a legitimate question because they'd both had alley dirt and blood and Merlin only knew what else on them before they'd sorted themselves out at Grimmauld. Knockturn Alley hadn’t been a clean fight by any stretch of the imagination.

"No...you have...there's water, just here," and his hand reaches out, touches fingertips to the side of her neck and catches the water. He's suddenly aware of how intimate the gesture is, the more so because of the way her eyes widen minutely when his touch grazes her skin. Then he sees the moment where she thinks it might be an accident, and decides that he doesn't want it to be, that he's finished pretending that this is anything but what it is. He shifts so that his fingers can move and curl gently at the nape of her neck, and he feels her head tilt unconsciously into it. "Tonks?"

"Yes?" She's half holding her breath, he can see the way that she's almost completely stilled beneath his hand. His other hand finds her waist and he leans in, closes his eyes when he kisses her, and the moment that she kisses him back makes him wonder why he didn’t do this sooner. It isn't a long, drawn-out kiss, nor is it a skittish peck on the lips born of nervousness; instead, it's filled with warmth that he feels moving all the way through him when they finally part, only to chase one another into a second kiss, playfulness imbuing it as though they're saying _come here!_ and trying to catch each other. Feeling Tonks smile into it, feeling her _shiver_ and tightening his grip at her waist minutely, curling his fingers just a little to see if she'll do it again, and she does. "Took you long enough," she murmurs, and when he lifts a hand to touch her hair, the remaining strands of brown begin to bloom pink beneath his fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> Probably not my finest work, alas, but offered nonetheless as a bit of fun. I've diverged from canon some here again, but hopefully someone out there will enjoy it. For once, not inspired by poetry or music, somewhat surprisingly, but if you have a song or something that you feel fits this, please feel free to share in a comment!


End file.
